Easy as One Two Three (A Flap Tucker Mystery) Page 15

  I had no idea what time it was — later afternoon. The place was fairly empty. Dally was at a corner table gabbing with the proprietress herself. Nobody else in the joint was familiar. I zipped over to the table and sat beside Dally.

  Miss Nina was going on, eyes nearly closed, rocking by the heater. “I’m closin’ in on seventy. But I look older. Had a hard life.” Then it seemed like she slipped off to sleep.

  Dally nodded her head, even though it seemed obvious to me that the old dame didn’t see it.

  Then Miss Nina gave me a little lesson. “There’s some coffee on back yonder, Mr. Tucker — if you want some.”

  Dally smiled at me. “Have a nice day at the office?”

  I hesitated. She saw it.

  She squinted. “What?”

  I was going to have to tell her sooner or later, so what the hell. “Want to walk me to the coffee?”

  She nodded. I left my coat and hat at the table.

  In the kitchen we were alone. I poured. “Well …”

  She looked at me. “Something happened.”

  “You could say that.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  Big sigh. I set the cup down on the counter, lowered my voice. “Keep it down, okay? I found Ginny.” Loud whisper. “Yow found her?”

  “Shhh. Yeah. Or she found me, if you want to get technical. I was back in the church, David’s church, trying to do my little thing, and there she was.”

  “Ginny?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Ginny.”

  “You sure?”

  “I said, ‘Are you Ginny?’ She said, ‘I’m Ginny.’ I mean, I didn’t get a look at her driver’s license, but …”

  “… So where is she?”

  I looked at the coffee cup. “Well, see … that’s the thing. I — she kind of got away again.”

  She couldn’t keep her voice down at that. “What?”

  “Shhh. Man. I knew you were going to make a big deal about this.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  I picked up the coffee cup. There. The worst was over. The first sentence is always the hardest. Journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. Well begun is half done. “I got a lot of information out of her before she split.”

  “Why did she … how could you let her go?”

  “I didn’t let her. She was like lightning, this kid. She vanished.”

  “She vanished.”

  I sipped. “That’s what I said.”

  She shook her head. I was pretty sure you could have defined the word incredulous by the look on her face. “Unbelievable.”

  “She was in great shape. Warm, happy … a little jumpy, but …”

  “Jesus, Flap. What are you doing here drinking coffee? You go right back up there and get her.”

  I shook my head. “Not that simple. She doesn’t want to be got.”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t want to come home just now. She’s waiting for a sign.”

  “A sign?”

  I lowered my voice even more. “Yeah, but it’s not going to come. She’s expecting a sign from Wicher …”

  “… Wicher?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not going to give it on account of his being dead.”

  “Wicher’s dead?”

  “Somebody drilled him in the heart.”

  “He got shot? Where?”

  I looked at the coffee. “In the tree hut. And he wasn’t shot. He was literally drilled, like with a drill.”

  “In the heart?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In the tree hut?”

  “Um … right.”

  “Jesus.”

  “And that’s not all.”

  She took my coffee and sipped some herself. “You’ve had quite a little afternoon.”

  “Yeah. Get this: Wicher built that tree hut for the kids. Wicher also saved Ginny from the real kidnappers —”

  She interrupted. “She was really kidnapped?”

  “Right. The real kidnappers were the two out-of-towners —”

  “— The big guy and the guy with the hat.”

  “Check, but they lost her too.”

  She actually grinned. “This is some kid.”

  “My sentiments exactly. She’s a doozy. And smart as a whip.”

  “So you talked to her.”

  I nodded. “At length. She’s ten, but she’s in the fifth grade. She skipped. She’s on the Internet. And by the way, she thinks the ghost of Christy Rayburn is helping her find the best hiding places.”

  Completely ignoring the ghost part: “And why is she hiding, did she say?”

  “Yeah. She thinks the mean men are going to hurt her parents if she comes home.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Dally sighed out a healthy breath. “Anything else? See anything of Bigfoot or Elvis?”

  I sipped a little more coffee. “No, but I did get a little further with my thing, my trick.”

  She looked at me. “And?”

  “It’s still not complete. It’s all coming together, and it seems to be supported by the facts, however bizarre those might be … but something’s missing from the process.”

  “Like what?”

  I finished my cup. “I don’t know.”

  She didn’t know what to say — something of an unusual circumstance for our pal. “So … what now?”

  I set the cup down. “I need to finish the thing, the trick … plus I need a glass of wine or two, but thanks to you I got none.”

  “Thanks to me?”

  “Who knew this was going to be more than an afternoon excursion?”

  “Not me.”

  I started back into the dining room. “Yeah, well — if I’d known, I would have brought a stash with me.”

  She followed. “Like you usually do.”

  I was irritated. “Yes. Like I usually do.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  And we were in the dining room face-to-face with Mr. Hainey, the man from BarnDoor.

  He smiled bigger than it looked like his face could go, and shot out his hand to shake. “Tucker! Good to see you. How goes the hunt?”

  “Mixed.”

  He had confidence in me. “You'll get there, boy. It’ll be just fine. And Ms. Oglethorpe — how are you this fine evening?”

  “Swell in a hand basket.”

  “Good. Good. Terrible business about that old fella Wicher.” He made a kind of theatrical shudder.

  That stretched my neck, but I tried being coy. “What about Mr. Wicher?”

  He lowered his voice. “It’s okay, Mr. Tucker. It’s all over town — but I understand your not wanting to talk about it.” His voice was back up to a normal level. “Terrible business.” He threw a smile in the direction of Miss Nina. “And how about some grub, Miss Nina!”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “You know where it is.”

  He was delighted. “Yes, I do!” Chucked a glance our way. “I love this place.”

  And he slipped gracefully into the kitchen.

  Miss Nina muttered, nearly to herself, “Never trust a man that happy.”

  Bing. Happy. This was the happy man. It made too much sense for science.

  Dally must have seen it on my face. “What is it, bud?”

  “The happy man.” I lowered my voice. “We have got to talk.” I could barely wait to tell her what was running through my brainpan, but the happy man came back. He barely had a dab of food on his plate.

  “Mr. Tucker, I understand you’re something of a wine aficionado.”

  “I got opinions.” I was itchy to get out and tell Dally my theories.

  “Yes.” He set his plate down at the table where my coat and hat were reposited. “You don’t care much for our American wines, I understand.”

  “Not much.”

  He smiled. “Too bad. Our group owns a winery in this very region.”

  Dally was confused. “BarnDoor owns a cha
teau?” He was very tickled by this notion. “That’d be something, wouldn’t it? No, I mean the company that owns BarnDoor also owns the winery. Black Rock.”

  She inclined his way. “Pardon?”

  “That’s the name of the house, Black Rock wines.”

  “Make a lot of muscadine” — my voice was, I suppose, crammed with irony — “and, I don’t know, elderberry wine, do they?”

  He sat at the table. “That muscadine wine is very folksy. Also popular.”

  I shook my head. “Where? Where is it popular?” He mistook me for someone who had an interest in the subject. “Well, Seattle, for one. They love that wine in Seattle. Portland. San Fran. Denver. Get the picture? They like the folksy quality.”

  “Is it actually made by folks?” My voice lilted. Miss Nina bubbled with a little laugh.

  Hainey just smiled bigger. “Yes! We hire locally. It’s our policy.” He turned to his food. “Although the recipe, of course, comes from corporate.”

  I shot Dally a look. “Of course the recipe comes from corporate.”

  “Actually that’s what I’m in these here parts for.” He managed to make these here parts sound jolly and insulting both at the same time.

  Dally was droll. “What’s that, exactly?”

  He nibbled at a fried chicken wing. “I’ve got to get some land up here for the new site.”

  My turn. “Site?”

  “For our new winery.” Bite.

  I nodded. “I see. Lucky you got some good help in that arena. I hear people up here are somewhat suspicious of outsiders coming to take their land.”

  Miss Nina chuckled again, eyes still closed.

  He was undaunted. “Well, it’s all in how you approach them. People are people, I’ve found. But I don’t know what you mean about the good help. I’m up here all by myself.”

  I spoke evenly. “I mean the two guys you got working for you up here.”

  He stopped eating. He seemed genuinely baffled. “Two guys?”

  Dally pitched in. “And I thought you were up here for a BarnDoor factory or whatever.”

  He nodded vigorously, wiping his mouth with his paper napkin. “Oh, that too. We’ve had our eye on this section of the state for a while.” He shifted in his chair just a little. “We want to help. This whole area has been depressed for a while. Our company will bring jobs and tourists and a good shot of money into the region. Great for everybody.”

  Dally cracked a little smile. “Tourists?”

  He was quite serious. “Oh, yes. People love to tour wineries. That’s as much of the business as the actual wine!”

  I think Dally could tell I was all set to launch into my patented-wine tirade. She interceded on behalf of the happy man.

  “Flap, here, only drinks French wine.”

  He was busy with his creamed corn. “I see. Well, a couple of the other wineries up here have done well — so I suppose we’re counting on a few people who might disagree with Mr. Tucker.” He turned my way and winked at me. “Plus, they’ve got a great golf course up there … where is it?” He couldn’t quite remember and I was in no mood to help. “Anyway. You play golf, Mr. Tucker?”

  “Me? No. Not much of a sports fan at all.”

  “Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “Too bad. It’s a great course.”

  I was calm. “Uh-huh. That’s what I always look for in a great chateau: access to golf.”

  Dally saved the day. “He’s just grumpy ’cause he got no sleep and he needs a drink. ’Scuse us?”

  He made a little dancing gesture, half standing, nodding with his mouth full. I grabbed my coat and hat, and Dally ushered me out the door.

  Before I could say anything, she was hustling me toward my car. “I was saving this for a little treat on the way home, a picnic at one of the overlooks or something, but I figure you got it coming to you now.”

  I was very hopeful indeed. “You brought a surprise?”

  We were at the vehicle. She tapped on the passenger side. “Pop the door.”

  I did. She reached in the backseat and pulled out a canvas tote bag.

  I tried to peer in. “What is it?”

  She sighed. “It was going to be a surprise. But I guess I thought we’d get to it sooner than this.”

  She splayed open the bag and revealed the miracle at hand. Two bottles of Chateau La Grâce Dieu, a Saint Emilion Grand Cru, and a very fine age at that. I could barely believe my eyes.

  “You can’t be serious. I didn’t think you could even get this in the States.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know if you could or you couldn’t. I had this shipped from Gironde.”

  I had to lean on the car. “Oh my God.”

  She was trying for nonchalance. “Yeah, well, don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  “I’d never say that.” I beamed at her. “You had this along as, what? A homeward treat?”

  She looked far off down the road. “Something like that.”

  “Well, it would have been swell, but stern times call for desperate measures. I mean, this almost qualifies as an essential at this point, wouldn’t you say?”

  She was still somewhere else. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

  I was still staring at the bottles. “This is .:. Dally?”

  She finally looked at me. Hard to read what was on her face. I slowed down. “This is great — you really are somethin’, you know it? So — how about we crack one open now and save the other for the drive home?”

  She was still not herself. “I know how you are once you get wound up. Plus, I absolutely intend on sharin’ this with you. So let’s just see how it goes.”

  I nodded, made a decision, and took hold of her arm. “Then come with me.”

  I squired her into the car, handed her the canvas bag, and swung around to the driver’s side. “Let’s have a little picnic of our own right now.”

  The sun was just beginning to sink low, and the air was still plenty chilly, but the clouds were mostly gone, and the ghost of the near-full moon was evident in the eastern sky.

  Dally was staring at it as we backed out into the street. “If you see the moon in the daytime, it means you’ll learn some secret before bedtime.”

  “Huh. Never heard that one.”

  She was nearly inaudible. “Maybe I made it up.”

  We traveled the rest of the way in silence. Less than five minutes later I pulled the car into a gravel place beside David’s church.

  She finally spoke again. “We picnicking here?”

  I nodded. “For all sorts of reasons. (A) This is where I saw Ginny. (B) I want to check out the tombstones. (C) Why not?”

  She smiled. Good.

  22. Smoke

  We got out of the car, and I headed for the cemetery up the hill.

  She came alongside me. “So what is this you’ve got to talk to me about? What’s this about the ‘happy man’?”

  I could barely hold it all in. “So get this: Ginny told me that the happy man was in her house the night she wandered off sleepwalking, and then the two men in the gangster togs snatched her and off we go, and so forth.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I was nearly busting. “This is what I think now. I think Hainey wants to buy this land!” I spread my hands expansively to take in the whole mountain.

  “Uh-huh …”

  “… And who owns this land? None other than the McDonners. And will they sell it? Not a bit.”

  She was still very fuzzy on everything. “Why not?”

  “They’ve got so many skeletons up here you couldn’t even shake a stick at them all. Guilt! That’s why they don’t want to sell. So let me just talk this out, okay? See, Mr. Happy gets the idea that if he snatches little Ginny and hides her out somewhere, the folks will come around to his way of thinking. And the two thugs tell me right away they’re in land acquisition, so I had it in my head — and Ginny confirmed it — that they were the kidnappers. Only Ginny, God bless her, is too tough and too sma
rt for everybody, and she manages, with the help of Mr. Wicher, to give the hoods the slip.” I had a sudden jolt from my fever-dream. “Hey. Hoods. Little Red Riding Hood. What do you know.”

  She was completely lost by this time, so I had to explain all the images from my trance-state revelation.

  She was somewhat amused. “Don’t you think it’s kind of cute that here you are looking for a kid and all your juju is from cartoons and fairy tales?”

  “Yeah. Cute. But what keeps it from being adorable is the fact that somebody drilled Wicher in the old left ventricle — and somebody scared little Ginny enough to keep her from going home on account of she thinks her parents might get iced.”

  That got her. “Yeah. I guess the stakes are upped a little by all that mess.”

  “Right.”

  She was serious then. “So what do you think really accounts for the strangeness, the cartoon thing?”

  I shook my head. “Got me. Maybe it does have something to do with looking for a kid. I don’t think I ever looked for a missing kid before.”

  She tightened her lips. “Nope.”

  We’d arrived at the cemetery.

  I started searching the stones. “So what I’m looking for now is Days and McDonners and Rayburns.”

  She was game. “Okay.”

  We searched awhile in silence, and the day began to slip away.

  Suddenly Dally made a little dancing laugh. “Hey!”

  I looked over at her, across the snow-covered stones against the pines. What a face.

  “What is it?”

  She motioned. “Come here.”

  I did.

  It seemed to be the tombstone of one Tyrus Rayburn. It was the inscription that had gotten Dally gleeful. She read it out loud. “Here lies Tyrus Rayburn, Burned by God’s Righteousness.”

  I shifted. Next to it was the grave of the missus, I supposed. Lissa Day Rayburn. Hers held an only sightly more cryptic message. “Lifted to God’s Right Hand on the Smoke from the Punished Wicked.”

  She looked at me. “Christy’s folks. Fun couple.”

  “Yeah. And of course there is no grave for Christy. That’s what makes her the Little Girl of Lost Pines.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And don’t we think that skull in the woods by the tree hut is her last remains?”

  “Do we?”

  She got up beside me. “You got doubts?”